


Of Wolf and Rose

by Aviator39



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Abuse, Alliances, Angst, Arranged Marriage, Beating, Blood, Death, Defection, Dragons, Drama, Escape, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Romance, F/F, F/M, False Identity, Fluff, Forced Marriage, Forced Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, Jaime Lannister redemption, Joffrey Baratheon is His Own Warning, Jon Snow is a Stark, Killing, Letters, Magic, Marriage of Convenience, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Petyr isn't creepy, Poisoning, Political Alliances, Politics, Pregnancy, Queen in the North, R Plus L Does Not Equal J, Ramsay is His Own Warning, Rape, Rape/Non-con Elements, Romance, Secret Identity, Secret Relationship, Sex, Sexual Abuse, Sexual Content, Sexual Violence, Shapeshifting, Spies, Subterfuge, Teen Pregnancy, The North remembers, Underage Sex, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Violence, War, Whipping
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-08
Updated: 2019-08-10
Packaged: 2019-08-20 18:58:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16561445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aviator39/pseuds/Aviator39
Summary: Layana Stark is Sansa's twin sister, with a little more of the old Northern magic running through her veins.Having been held hostage in Kings Landing alongside her sister, the arrival of Margaery Tyrell brings hope of better days.They're all playing the game in Kings Landing, so when the Tyrells propose marriage between their sons and the Stark twins, Sansa and Layana are quick to agree.Will all go to plan? Or will the Lannisters find someway of destroying what little hope the sisters have?





	1. Best Laid Plans

**Author's Note:**

> Dialogue taken and adapted from season 3 episodes 2 & 3\. Please review.

 

_“It is absolutely terrifying the kind of deep suffering the happiest looking people are able to hide inside themselves.” – Nikita Gill_

* * *

 

Sansa and Layana tensed as a sharp knock sounded on the door to their chambers in the Maiden Vault. They looked to each other, trepidation clear in their eyes. It could not be a summons from the King - the Kingsguard would not take the care to knock. Whoever it was knocked again, slightly more insistent. 

“You have to answer?” Sansa murmured, nudging her twin forward. “You’re the eldest.” She reminded her other half.

Layana rolled her eyes and sighed. “I’m older by twelve minutes, Sansa.” She muttered before schooling her features into the well-practiced façade of demure neutrality that they had perfected since coming to King’s Landing, before lifting the latch and yanking the heavy door open. “Ser Loras?”

“Lady Layana…” Loras replied, bowing slightly. “The guard let me pass. I hope I’m not intruding.” He explained with an easy, charming smile. 

“Not in the slightest.” She replied, feeling the presence of her twin appear behind her. “How may we be of service?”

Loras ran a hand through his thick, gold-bronze curls. “My sister, Margaery, invites you to take the air with her and our grandmother, the Lady Olenna, in the gardens.” He smiled easily, gold-green eyes shining and Layana could understand why Sansa was besotted with him. 

She looked back at Sansa who was smiling genuinely for the first time in days before turning back to Ser Loras. “We would be honored, Ser Loras.”

“Wonderful.” He replied, inconspicuously looking past her to Sansa before extending both his arms to them. “Shall we?”

They each took an arm, grips light and at odds with the veiled grief and haunting he found in their eyes. He knew they were still grieving their father and little brothers, but he wondered if there was any truth to the rumors that had reached his grandmother’s ears when they were still in Highgarden.  _ Could that be why she had written to his brother and insisted that Willas journey to King’s Landing? _ He didn’t know or understand the full extent of the game his grandmother and sister were playing, but they had made it clear that the Stark twins were essential to it. And they were twins, sharing the Tully features and the thick, auburn hair. The only thing separating them were Layana’s ice-gray eyes.

The smell of rosemary and lavender suffused the air around Sansa, drifting around him every time her hair shifted, so completely at odds with the sharp scent of pine and winter roses that clung to her sister. He briefly wondered if now that the King had set Sansa aside, he might finally have the chance to win her hand. “I believe you grow more beautiful every day, Lady Sansa.” Loras murmured, earning a small, polite smile in return. “Far more beautiful than any of these Southron ladies.” He could feel Layana’s eyes on him, watching. 

Sansa giggled softly, blushing. “You are too kind, Ser Loras.” She replied lowly. “You probably don’t remember the first time we met.” Her grip on his arm tightened slightly. “At the Hand’s Tourney, you gave me your favor.”

“It was a red rose, if I remember correctly.” Loras added, courteously ignoring the way her voice hitched at the memory. “If I had been able to, I would have crowned you Queen of Love and Beauty.” He murmured softly, mindful of the presence of the two Lannister red cloaks following them. 

Sansa gave him a warm smile in return as they continued walking down the garden path, closer to where Lady Margaery was waiting in a beautiful gown of blue and gold silks. The gown was daring, with low neckline that displayed the bronze-haired girl’s cleavage prettily. There were two sections cut out on either side of her waist, allowing her milky skin to show through, and making the swell of her hips that much more distracting. Above the cut-outs and around her waist coiled a silver-gold belt in the shape of a briar rose, complete with thorns.

“Thank you.” Margaery beamed once they reached her, pressing a kiss to her brother’s cheek. “You’re such a dear.” She stated, smiling at the two Northern girls. 

Loras chuckled softly, bowing to the ladies. “I’ll take my leave.” He turned to Sansa, taking her hand and brushing his lips over the knuckles. “Lady Sansa.”

“Thank you, Ser Loras.” Sansa replied, a blush coloring her cheeks as she watched the Knight of the Flowers depart.

Layana exchanged a glance with Margaery who had a small smirk on her lips as though something had just played out the way she had planned it. “Thank you for the invitation, Lady Margaery.” She said, maintaining her cool facade. “It was kind of you to include my sister and I in your day.”

“Just Margaery, please.” She insisted, taking each girl by the arm. “It’s silly to act as though we did not correspond in the past.” Margaery began guiding them into the pavilion that had been set up in one of the many courtyards, the green and gold ribbons snapping in the breeze. “Lady Sansa, Lady Layana, it is my honor to present my grandmother...the Lady Olenna of House Tyrell.”

Olenna watched as the Stark girls lowered their eyes and dipped into low curtsies, immediately recognizing the tailored masks of neutrality that they wore. One did not get as old as she was without learning to identify these things. “Kiss me, children.” She commanded and received two light kisses on her cheeks for the effort. “It’s so good of you to visit me and my foolish flock of hens.” Olenna softened her gaze, pale green orbs slipping towards something close to sympathy. “We’re very sorry for your losses.”

Sansa swallowed thickly, throat constricting around the words she knew should reply with and looked to her sister, eyes wide and desperate. Layana, sensing her twin’s distress, stepped forward. “And we were sorry to hear of Lord Renly’s death, Lady Margaery.” She murmured, hoping to gauge the other girl’s reaction. “He was very gallant.”

“Gallant, yes.” Olenna snorted, her headscarf fluttering in the breeze as she shook her head. “And charming, and very clean.” She added dismissively. “He knew how to dress and smile, and somehow this gave him the notion that he was fit to be King.”

Margaery pursed her lips. “Renly was brave and gentle, Grandmother.” She reminded Olenna. “Father liked him, and so did Loras.”

“Loras is young and very good at knocking men off their horses with a stick. That does not make him wise.” Olenna insisted and Layana found that she admired the old woman for her pragmatism. “As to your fathead father --”

“Grandmother!” Margaery exclaimed, not missing the way both Sansa and Layana flinched. “What will Layana and Sansa think of us?”

Olenna raised her chin, the loose skin held in place by the strap of her headscarf. “They might think we have some wits about us.” She replied bluntly. “One of us, at any rate.” Her tone grew serious, pale green eyes darkening. “It was treason. I warned them. Robert has two sons and Renly had an older brother. How could he possibly have any claim to that ugly iron chair?” The Queen of Thorns shook her head, observing how the Stark girls both clasped their hands in front of them, unease slipping past their practiced facades. “We should have stayed well out of all of this if you ask me. But once the cow’s been milked, there’s no squirting the cream back up her udders.” Her scarf trembled as she shook her head. “So, here we are to see things through. What do you say to that, Layana?” Olenna didn’t wait for the girl to answer, and instead chose to divert the subject. “Shall we have some lemon cakes?”

Layana smiled sweetly, the shadows beneath her eyes pronounced. “Lemon cakes are our favorite.” She replied, wrapping an arm around Sansa’s waist, bringing a small smile to her twin’s features. 

“So we’ve been told.” Olenna stated before looking past the girls to glare at a serving boy. “Are you going to bring the food, or do you mean to starve us to death?” She scathed as she stood, tapping Layana on the shoulder. “Come, girls. Sit with me.” The Queen of Thorns moved quickly for a woman her age as they walked over to a table and chairs that had been set up under the pergola. “I’m much less boring than these others.”

The twins glanced at Margaery who simply smiled and motioned for them to follow her grandmother. “Do you know my son?” Olenna questioned as she settled into her seat, again directing the question towards Layana. 

“The Lord of Highgarden?” Layana clarified, folding her hands in her lap demurely as she sat. “I haven’t had the pleasure.” She answered politely. 

Olenna snorted as Margaery leaned back in her chair, breasts pushing out against the bodice of her gown and Layana wondered what it would be like to not be constantly laced into a corset. “It’s no great pleasure, believe me.” The Queen of Thorns disparaged. “A ponderous oaf, and his father was an oaf as well.” She shook her head, seeming exasperated with her own family. “My husband, the late Lord Luthor - he managed to ride off a cliff whilst hawking. They say he was looking up at the sky and paying no mind to where his horse was taking him.”

Layana swallowed the laugh that threatened to bubble up between her lips, the image of the former Lord of Highgarden more amusing than it should have been. But despite the humorous image, she knew that there was greater meaning behind Lady Olenna’s words. 

“And now my son is doing the same, only this time he’s riding a lion instead of a horse.” Olenna leaned forward, staring at Layana. “Now...I want you to tell me the truth about this royal boy - this Joffrey.” She ordered.

“I...I…” Layana stammered, looking to Sansa but her sister sat rigidly in her seat.

Olenna nodded, clearly impatient. “ _ You _ , you. Who else would know better? You were betrothed to the boy once he tired of your sister.” She was determined, gaze and tone unrelenting. “We’ve heard some troubling tales. Is there any truth to them? Has this boy mistreated you?” Her eyes threatened to bore into Layana’s soul and uncover the secrets of who Joffrey truly was. “Has he ripped out your tongue?”

Layana shook her head softly, swallowing convulsively. “Joff...King Joffrey, he--” She stammered, lowering her eyes and nearly choking around her next words. “His Grace...is very fair a-and handsome and...as brave as a lion.”

“Yes, all Lannisters are lions.” Olenna stated. “And when a Tyrell farts, it smells like a rose.” She retorted indignantly. 

Margaery leaned forward, resting a hand on Layana’s arm despite the flinch that it elicited, her thumb stroking gently across the dark blue damask. “But how kind is he? How clever?” She asked gently. “Has he a good heart, a gentle hand?” Her voice was low, clearly aware of how fast information traveled around the Keep. “I’m to be his wife, Layana. I only want to know what that means.” She could feel the trembling coming from the other girl as the serving boy from earlier appeared with a plate of lemon cakes, placing it down on the table.

“Bring me some cheese.” Olenna ordered curtly. 

“The cheese will be served after the cakes, my lady.” The boy replied, seeming put out.

Olenna sneered. “The cheese will be served when I want it served. And I want it served now.” She demanded, dismissing the chastised boy with a sharp flap of her hand before turning her observant eyes back on Layana as she took a lemon cake and extended the plate towards the gray-eyed girl. “Are you frightened, child?”

Layana managed a shallow nod, accepting the cake and placing it on her plate before reaching out with her free hand and threading her fingers through Sansa’s, squeezing.

“There is no need for that.” The Queen of Thorns murmured, seeming entirely the kind grandmother. “Tell us the truth. No harm will come to you.”

“My father always told the truth.” Layana spat out suddenly, the fire that sparked in her steel-gray eyes reminding the Tyrells that, yes, she was a daughter of the North.

Olenna nodded thoughtfully. “Yes, he had that reputation.” She agreed. “And they named him traitor and took his head.”

“ _ Joffrey _ .” Layana spat. “Joffrey did that.” Tears stung her eyes and she swallowed around the sob stuck in her throat. “He promised he would be merciful, and he cut out father’s head off. And he said that was mercy.” The words came fast, faster than Layana had the sense to stop them. “Then he took us up on the walls and made us look at it.” Her chin wobbled, tears threatening to spill down her cheeks.

Margaery exchanged a look with her grandmother before shifting her hand to hold Layana’s, thumb stroking across the back of the girl’s knuckles. “Go on.” She urged softly.

Layana shook her head, loose hair trembling as her eyes grew panicked, darting in every direction like the King might emerge from the shadows to strike her. “I-I can’t.” She insisted. “I...never meant...my father was a  _ traitor _ .” Her tone was almost believable. “My brother is as well. I have traitor’s blood.”

“Please.” Sansa begged, startling everyone when she spoke and finally returned her sister’s grip. “Please don’t make her say anymore.”

“They’re _terrified_ , Grandmother.” Margaery stated earnestly. “Just _look_ at them.”

Olenna leaned forward, aged features sympathetic. “Speak freely.” She insisted. “We would never betray your confidence, I swear it.”

The twins looked at each other, some unspoken message passing between them. They were past saving, bodies disfigured by Joffrey’s abuse. But they could spare Margaery such a fate. They turned back to the Tyrells who stared at them with expectant but sympathetic looks. 

“He’s a monster.” Sansa said at last.

🐺

Layana and Sansa were enjoying one of their daily walks through the gardens of the Red Keep, doing their utmost to ignore the two Lannister guards trailing behind them, their boots crunching on the gravel path. Their walks were one of the few activities permitted to them aside from embroidery and the occasional ride around the bailey, but it quickly grew boring riding round-and-round in a circle. So, now they spent their days wandering about the gardens, embroidering or looking on as Joffrey held court and became more and more enamored with Margaery. 

Margaery...the Highgarden girl’s near ever-present smirk often gave Layana pause whenever the Little Rose sought out her and Sansa’s companionship. But so far, the Tyrells had been true to their word. Nothing of what Layana and Sansa told them made it back to the King or Queen, and it made all the difference in their decision to trust them.

“Do you think Robb still loves us?” Sansa asked suddenly, jerking Layana from her thoughts as they stopped walking. 

Layana frowned, looking at Sansa with concern. “Of course, Robb loves us.” She assured her twin, stroking a hand down her arm. “He just--”

“He just loves his crown more.” Sansa growled lowly, anger flashing hot and quick in her Tully blue eyes. “If he truly loves us, he would have ransomed Ser Jaime in exchange for us.” She muttered angrily, violently twisting the fabric of her gown in her hands, wrinkling the silk damask. “Do you think he even knows that Bran and Rickon are dead?”

“Aye, I think he does.” She murmured against her sister’s hair as she pressed her lips against the other’s forehead, breathing in the rosemary oil Sansa always combed through it. “Theon was always quick to crow about his victories.” Layana pulled away, staring Sansa in the eye. “But we must be strong like Mother...and like Robb.”

Sansa nodded, straightening her spine. “Winter is coming.” She murmured lowly, a devilish gleam in her eye. 

Layana nodded, as they continued making their way down a side path to the Godswood - if it could truly be called that. “Winter is coming.” She repeated as they knelt before the rock, the salt spray from the sea tickling their noses. “Our words are the only ones that are true, Sansa.” Her voice was low as she kept her head bowed. “Eventually, winter  _ must _ come. It must  _ always _ come. And one day it will come for everyone who ever hurt us.”

“Do you promise?” Sansa asked, voice small, a single thread of hope laced through it.

“I promise Little Wolf.” She swore just as footsteps sounded on the path and there was a soft cough as someone cleared their throat. 

“I didn’t mean to disturb you.” Margaery apologized, standing just past where the Lannister guards had stationed themselves. 

Sansa shook her head as she rose, brushing down the violet leaf-patterned damask of her skirts, pulling her sister to rise as well. “You didn’t.” She assured Margaery, despite the Tyrell girl having indeed interrupted their prayers. 

Margaery smiled at the twins, glancing at the Lannister guards with an unimpressed glimmer in her honey-brown eyes. “We’d like some privacy, please.” She stated, features hardening slightly when the two men refused to move. “If you wouldn’t mind waiting back inside the Keep.” Her features twisted into a scowl as she marched forward, determined. “Or if you’d like to give me your names, I’ll have the King speak with you himself.” The thinly veiled threat worked as the men nodded their heads and retreated down the path, leaving Sansa and Layana alone for the first time in months. The twins looked to each other, unsure of how to react at the lack of guards as they gave tight smiles to Margaery. 

“What did you pray for?” Margaery whispered playfully, eyes shining with genuine warmth. 

“We can’t tell you.” Sansa replied with a soft smile, nudging Layana in the ribs softly. 

Margaery pouted teasingly. “Oh, why not?” She asked, linking arms with both girls and beginning to lead them back up the path. “I’ll tell you what I prayed for in the Sept this morning. Let’s see…” A mischievous grin crossed her pretty, delicate features. “My family’s health and happiness, for an end to the war, for a short winter; boring and traditional, I’m afraid. And you?” Her gaze was Layana this time. 

“I’m sorry...I-I just can’t.” Layana answered meekly, averting her eyes, fearful of admitting that she prayed that Joffrey might die soon. That the Lannister army’s shields would shatter and their swords splinter. That one day it would be Robb mounting Joffrey’s head on a pike above the walls of Winterfell. 

Margaery nodded understandingly, quickly switching the subject as they began walking down the little-used steps that led from the Godswood. “When I was little, my cousin Alana was the most beautiful girl I’d ever seen. I thought she was a goddess come to torture me.” She regaled. “Pig-Face, she called me.”

“Pig-Face?” Sansa questioned incredulously, a little giggle slipping past her lips. “That’s ridiculous.”

“I think it had something to do with my nose.” Margaery continued, tilting her head up. “Whenever she’d pass me in the halls, she’d oink.” She said, letting out a few playful oinks. The three girls laughed softly at that, some warmth returning to Layana’s eyes that had Margaery smiling as they continued down the steps. “So, I prayed she’d catch a horrible skin disease; a week after that she came down with Porridge Plague.”

Layana started at that, knowing there was no such thing and opened her mouth to give a retort but was beaten by Sansa’s naiveté.

“Porridge Plague?” Sansa questioned, a worried crease between her brows.

Margaery paused, turning to face Sansa. “Oh, you don’t have it in the North?” She asked, and Sansa shook her head. “Your skin starts to look like boiled oats and eventually your face slides off and you die in agonizing pain.”

“But that’s awful.” Sansa fretted, wide blue eyes pools of concern.

Margaery nodded, pressing her lips together for a few moments before her laughter got the better of her and she burst into giggles. 

“You’re--” Sansa stammered, a disbelieving smile splitting her features. “ _ I believed you _ .” She laughed, eyes shining. “Porridge Plague; I’m an idiot.”

Layana reached out, linking their hands together. “Don’t say that. No, you’re not.” She stated, glancing at Margaery. “So, what happened to Alana?”

“Oh, she grew up to be the most beautiful woman and married a handsome lord, and they have darling children and live in a castle by the sea.” Margaery admitted, sighing. “It’s all terribly frustrating.”

“I’m sure she’s jealous of you now.” Layana pushed, taking her cue from the slight nudge Sansa poked at her ribs. “You’ll be getting married here - in the Capitol - and she’ll have to come watch and pretend to be happy that you’re Queen.” She giggled lowly along with Margaery and Sansa. 

Margaery nodded thoughtfully for a moment, before reaching out and clasping each girl’s hand. “I want us to be friends.” She entreated earnestly. “Good friends.”

Layana and Sansa looked to each other. “That would make us very happy.” Sansa replied.

“Good.” Margaery replied, stepping closer so their bodies formed a tiny circle. “Because, there is something I must tell you.” She whispered. “I have spoken with my family, and we have a proposal for the both of you.”

“A proposal?” Layana’s brows knit together, as Sansa tightened the grip on her hand.

Margaery smiled, nodding. “Yes. Loras has agreed to wed you, Sansa.” She said, excitement bright in her honey-gold eyes. “Why, he’s so utterly besotted with you, that he would do so today if he could.”

Sansa stared wide-eyed at Margaery for several moments before jerking her gaze over to her twin. “T-The Queen...I...d-did she approve?” She managed after a moment, unable to help the way her voice shook. 

“Both the King and Queen have approved.” Margaery assured the twins. “They believe us loyal allies and agree that a marriage between House Stark and House Tyrell would only strengthen that alliance...and keep you under our watchful eye.”

Layana sighed heavily, releasing the breath she’d been holding - Sansa would be safe in Highgarden. “When will the wedding be?” She inquired, hoping for a date that was sooner rather than later. The less time the Queen and King had to reconsider the better.

“The middle of next week.” Margaery replied. “There must be time to prepare the Sept and get things in order.” She continued, turning her attention to Layana. “Now, my family and I have written to my eldest brother, Willas, about you - about betrothing you to him.”

“And?” Layana questioned apprehensively after a moment.

Margaery sighed, sounding irritated. “In true Willas fashion, he wrote answering neither yes nor no, and stating that he wants to meet you.” She murmured, reaching out to cup Layana’s cheek in her delicate hand. “He left for King’s Landing shortly after we did, but he won’t be here for some time because of his leg.”

She furrowed her brow. “His leg?”

“Yes, I’m sure you’ve heard the story of how his leg was crushed during a joust against Oberyn Martell when he was just sixteen. It left him crippled and riding long distances takes its toll.” Margaery answered nonchalantly. “I can assure you that he remains as handsome as ever; gallant and kind as well.”

Layana nodded absently. “We’re all crippled in one way or another.” She murmured, allowing the tiniest spark of hope to bloom in her chest. “Regardless of his leg, I accept the arrangement.”

Margaery clapped her hands delightedly, smiling widely at the twins. “I cannot wait for you to see Highgarden. We have a great masquerade the night of the harvest moon; you should see the costumes...people work on them for months.”

“I...I don’t think the Queen would let us leave Kings Landing.” Sansa stammered, looking around as though she expected Cersei to spring out from behind a bush. 

“The Queen Regent, you mean.” The Tyrell girl corrected gently, a knowing smirk on her lips. “Once I marry Joffrey, I’ll be Queen. And once you marry Loras and Willas arrives...well, your place would be at Highgarden, wouldn’t it.” She was beaming. “We could be sisters, the three of us. Would you like that?”

Sansa and Layana looked at each other, eyes shining with tears, nodding. “We would like that very much.” Layana managed after a moment, voice choked with tears. 

Margaery pulled them close, breathing in the scents of lavender, rosemary, winter roses and something strangely icy. “Oh, my dears.” She murmured, holding them tightly as they pressed their faces to the crooks of her neck. “Sweet things...I hope these are happy tears.”

“They are…” Sansa breathed, pulling away and swiping at her cheeks with the flowing sleeves of her gown as Layana did the same. “I promise they are.” She insisted. “I don’t think we’ve been so happy since we left home.”

Something sharp lanced through Margaery then, realizing just how damaged the Stark girls were despite the convincing facades they wore on a daily basis. If her family could take part in their healing, then she would play the great game however long she had to. “Come.” Margaery said, clasping their hands in hers as they began walking down the path again. “My parents are eager to meet their new daughters.”

* * *

Comments are love <3

 

 


	2. Lions and Wolves

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A daring plan is set into action. Layana and Sansa meet the Queen of Roses. Jaime Lannister returns to Kings Landing, and Robb shoulders his heaviest duty yet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my goodness! Finally, an update!
> 
> Thank you to everyone who's stuck with, and who have so patiently waited for this update. I hope it meets your standards. 
> 
> Remember...comments are love <3

“Out of suffering have emerged the strongest souls. The most massive characters are seared with scars.” - Khalil Gibran

* * *

Robb’s fists clenched at his sides as he started absently through the shining glass of the great hall’s windows, tracking the icy flow of the water to which Riverrun owed its name, his bright eyes carefully schooled to disguise the maelstrom of emotion behind them. His teeth ground at the grating sound of his Uncle’s tactless boasting.

“And if I may, nephew…” Edmure continued, heedless of the tension in Robb’s shoulders. “I encountered a situation with one of my lieutenants at the Stone Mill which may have some bearing--”

Brynden gnashed his teeth, barely curtailing the urge to cuff his nephew. “Why don’t you shut up about the bloody mill?” He questioned. “And don’t call him ‘nephew’. He’s your  _ King _ .”

Edmure scowled back at him, a muscle in his jaw ticking. “Robb knows that I mean him no disrespect.” He insisted.

“Count yourself lucky that I’m not your King.” Brynden shot back, venom coating his voice. “I wouldn’t let you wave your blunders around like a victory flag.”

“My  _ blunder _ sent Tywin’s mad dog scurrying back to Casterly Rock with his tail between his legs.” The younger Tully reminded. “I think King Robb understands we’re not going to win this war if he’s the only one winning any battles.” He gestured grandly at the war map in front of them. “There’s glory enough to go around.”

Robb slammed his fist against the wall, gaze icy as he regarded his two uncles. “You think this war is about  _ glory _ ?” His snarl mixed with that of the dire wolf at his feet, and Brynden swallowed thickly. “I sent two thousand men to their graves the day before last. The bards will tell the tales of their sacrifice, aye - but that matters not to the dead. Our victories do not make us conquerors.” The King turned to face Edmure, wary of the defiant fire that still sparked in his uncle’s eyes. “Did we kill those who executed my father? Did we rescue my sisters from the Queen? Did we free the North from those who want us on our knees?”

“I seized an opportunity.” Edmure continued to defend, speaking as if he hadn’t heard a word Robb had said. “The Mountain was garrisoned across the river from it.”

“Is he there now?” The Young Wolf questioned. “I wanted to draw the Mountain into the West; into our country where we would surround him and kill him.” He all but growled, burying one gloved hand in the fur atop Grey Wind’s head. “I wanted him to chase us, which he would have because he is a mad dog without a strategic thought in his head. I could have that head on a spike by now...instead...I have a mill.”

Edmure swallowed, forcing himself not to shrink from his nephew’s glacial stare. “We took hostages. Willem and Martyn Lannister.”

“They are fourteen-years-old.”

“Martyn is fifteen, I believe.” Brynden interjected unhelpfully.

Robb growled under his breath, pulling a crumpled scroll from the folds of his cloak. “Tywin Lannister has my  _ sisters _ . He is marrying Sansa to Loras Tyrell, and Gods only know what he plans to do with Layana.” He tossed the scroll on the table with disgust. “Have I sued for peace?” He asked Edmure.

“No.”

“Do you think he’ll sue for peace because we have his father’s-brothers’-great-grandsons?”

“No.” Edmure answered, looking for all the world as though he only just realized be may never see his nieces again. 

Robb sighed heavily, bracing himself against the table. “How many men did we lose?” He inquired, dreading the answer.

Edmure licked his lips. “Two hundred and eight. But for every man we lost, the Lannisters--”

“We need our men more than Tywin needs his!” Robb exploded, slamming his hands against the table as Grey Wind leapt to his feet, amber eyes glowing. “And you would have known that; right here - today, at this meeting - if you’d been patient.”

“We seem to all be running short of patience here.” Brynden chided placatingly. Edmure opened his mouth to deliver what was undoubtedly yet more useless commentary when the sound of a fist thumping at the door cut him off. 

 “What?” Brynden barked. 

A young lieutenant hurried in, closing the door behind him. “King Robb, Your Grace…” He prefaced, bowing quickly. “Lady Brienne and the Kingslayer have returned.”

Robb raised a surprised eyebrow, glancing briefly at  his uncles, who seemed equally flummoxed. “Send them in.” He instructed with a wave of his hand. “And send someone for my mother as well.” His eyes followed the soldier as he left the hall, beckoning to the pair that hovered in the doorway. He watched with a cool gaze as Lady Brienne entered, followed closely by a bedraggled Jaime Lannister, and noted the flash of his mother’s auburn hair behind the Kingslayer as his mother strode in behind him silently. 

“Your Grace.” Brienne intoned, gaze steady as she regarded the King in the North.

Robb straightened and clasped his hands behind his back, staring at Lady Brienne and her charge  with a carefully schooled expression before turning his attention to the Kingslayer. “You were well away.” He stated. “Why come back?”

“I had some sense knocked into me, so to speak.” Jaime replied, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “My sister has allowed Joffrey’s madness to reign unchecked...and your people - your  _ family _ \- have suffered for it.” He scuffed his boot against the floor. “Your sisters...they were kind to me back at Winterfell all those months ago. They treated me as if I were a true knight...not just the Kingslayer. I want to prove them right.”

The Young Wolf nodded slowly, gesturing for them to be seated  as he ran a hand through his hair absently. He remembered the tales Maester Luwin used to tell him about how Jaime Lannister once aspired to be like Ser Arthur Dayne - the Sword of the Morning - but somehow became the Smiling Knight along the way.  _ So, something of the boy remains in the man _ . He mused, taking strength from his mother’s presence despite his irritation at her. 

Robb leaned forward on his elbows, pointing to the scroll. “Listen here, Kingslayer -- this is what you are going to do…”

🏵

The sun had risen high by the time the girls made their way through the gardens to where the Tyrell family sat beneath the same pergola where Sansa and Layana had stood only yesterday. The Tyrells lounged in their chairs around a delicate glass table decorated with a tall decanter and a variety of goblets strewn around the tables with varying levels of sweet wine within them. 

Layana was beginning to understand why the Queen of Thorns had spoken of her son so disparagingly as she watched Mace Tyrell expertly balance a plate of cookies on his rotund stomach, dusting the crumbs from the front of his doublet in greeting as he saw his daughter approach. It was impossible to reconcile the idea of a man who controlled one of the largest and most fertile regions of Westeros with the sight of the cookie crumbs that stuck to his mustache - though it wasn’t difficult to see the pedigree of his family when he was seated next to Alerie Tyrell. 

The Lady of Highgarden was everything her Lord was not; tall, with a willowy figure and the same pretty, delicate features she shared with her daughter. Her hair was pinned up in an elaborate tangle of braids secured by a diamond encrusted hairnet whose pale green mantle fluttered enchantingly in the breeze. The dress she wore was a good deal more reserved than those of her daughter,  almost Northern in fashion with its long sleeves and conservative neckline. 

“Mother, Father…” Margaery began as they arrived at the table’s edge. “It is my honor to present Lady Sansa and Lady Layana Stark.” Her cheeks dimpled as she smiled back at them warmly. 

The girls curtsied low to the Tyrell patriarch, and as Layana dipped politely to Alerie, Loras stole Sansa’s hand, smiling warmly at the deep blush that colored Sansa’s chest as he guided her onto the chaise next to him. He quickly wrapped an arm around her waist, rubbing his thumb soothingly against her hip, and Layana felt her heart warm to see the sincerity in the gesture, pleasantly surprised to see that he was capable of loving her sister just as ardently as he’d loved Renly, if the rumors could be believed. 

“Lady Layana, Lady Sansa...we have heard much about you.” Lady Alerie said as she smiled softly at the girls, noting the courtly masks and demure dispositions Margaery had told her about. “But the tales do not do you justice.”

“You are too kind, Lady Alerie.” Layana replied politely, folding her hands in her lap. “Tales are often exaggerated, but I thank you all the same.”  She murmured, lowering her eyes to her lap. 

Lady Alerie’s answering smile was warm, but the corners of her mouth were tight as she exchanged glances with her two youngest children past her husband’s oblivious expression. “We were sorry to hear of your losses.” She murmured. “To have something so unspeakable done to your family...and by someone you trusted. Well, it’s a horror of the highest order. Please, accept our condolences.” 

Layana furrowed her brow softly, unsure if Lady Alerie spoke of her brothers or her father, but the sentiment was not lost on the Northern girl.  _ So, the Queen of Roses takes after her mother-in-law. _ “Thank you, Lady Alerie.” She murmured politely, gaze flickering Sansa, who seemed more content that Layana had seen her in months as she leaned into Loras’ embrace. “I was sorry to hear about Lord Renly. I know he was well loved by your family.” 

“Thank you, darling.” Alerie  said before her expression grew serious - though her eyes remained warm. “Now, let us move on to happier subjects. Like your wedding, Sansa.” She turned her attention to the other Stark girl who hastily straightened in her seat, eyes wide. “Tomorrow our seamstress will visit your rooms to take your measurements. Both of you will be getting new gowns as befitting your station, and a wedding gown for Sansa, of course.” 

Sansa and Layana glanced at each other, nervous hope glinting in their eyes as they simply nodded in agreement.  _ New gowns?  _ they thought in unison, equal parts excited and apprehensive. “The Queen…” Sansa murmured, anxiety twisting in her stomach as she clenched her hands together. “She will not be pleased.” 

“Leave Queen Cersei to me.” Alerie stated, voice conveying an authority that seemed at odds with her delicate features and warm eyes. “After all, she will not be Queen for much longer.” She smiled at Margaery who preened under her mother’s praise. “I know it may not seem like it, but we are neither as blinded nor as charmed by the Lannisters as we appear to be.” 

“Most of us at least.” Loras snorted and narrowed his eyes at his father, who had set aside the plate of cookies and was now quite enjoying a roasted quail. Layana always tried her best not to let rumors sway her judgement, but at the moment it seemed as though every one she’d heard about Lord Tyrell was confirmed. The man had no interest in conversation, or the fact that his wife was less than pleased with the arrangement between his family and the Lannisters.

But then again,  _ what interest is the discussion of wedding plans to a man? _   Layana sighed internally and returned her attention to Alerie, who had begun discussing the matter of a dowry. “The jewels our mother sent with us for dowry were seized by the Crown.” She stated flatly, voice and expression once more devoid of emotion. “As payment for my father’s crimes...and to ensure that we did not have the means to flee.” 

Lady Alerie blinked, her own courtly mask slipping as the genuine worry of a mother took over her features. “I will speak with Lord Tywin myself about securing your dowry.” She said firmly, green-gold eyes hard as gems. “Do you have a Maiden Cloak?” 

“I don’t think--” Sansa started, glancing at Layana when her twin shook her head. 

“I sewed one on the journey here.” Layana’s confession was quiet as she looked to her sister with lowered eyes. “I wanted you to have something from me...when you married Joffrey.” She licked her lips and exhaled shakily. “Mother helped me.”

Lady Alerie stood then, moving around the table to sit at Layana’s other side and pull the girl into a crushing embrace. She could feel the way Layana shuddered, breath hitching even as Margaery placed a comforting hand atop her own.  _ No child should be deprived of a mother’s love,  _ Alerie fumed, pressing a tender kiss to Layana’s hair before pulling away and pretending not to notice as the girl hastily swiped at her cheeks. 

“Your mother would be very proud.” She assured Layana, smoothing a hand down the girl’s hair before letting it come to rest on her back, frowning at the way she flinched and inhaled sharply. 

Margaery exchanged a look with her mother behind Layana’s back, her gaze heavy with secrets untold. She moved to comment, find her voice strangled with surprise as the sound of stumbling footsteps rang out behind her. She bolted to her feet alongside Layana, both moving to protect the other women present. 

The group let out a collective gasp as a  filthy and bedraggled man staggered into the courtyard. Layana choked back a scream as the man stumbled before her, falling to his knees in the middle of the footpath. He swayed dangerously and Layana found her feet moving of their own accord, heedless the bite of the hard stone into her knees as she dove down to catch the man. Their eyes met -- hers wide with shock and his hazy with fever, and she heard Sansa gasp behind her. 

“ _ Jaime Lannister? _ ”

🐺

Layana trailed  behind Cersei as the Queen Mother sped down the halls towards Ser Jaime’s chambers. It had been three days since Jaime had collapsed into Layana’s arms in the garden, and wild rumors were already flying about the Kingslayer’s condition. She’d heard the maids gossiping that the maester had taken his whole arm off, while the guards stationed outside her and Sansa’s doors had muttered about seeing Ser Jaime delirious with fever, ranting and raving at things nobody could see.

“I have an assignment for you, Sweetling.” Cersei said as she opened the door to Ser Jaime’s chambers, the cloying stench of rotted flesh and unwashed man forcing Layana nose to clamp  a hand over her mouth. “Qyburn is going to remove the rotting flesh.” She explained cavalierly. “After he is done, Ser Jaime will be in your charge.”

Layana licked her lips, swallowing as her stomach roiled, her lunch threatening to make a second appearance. “M-My charge, Your Grace?”

Cersei turned to her, grabbing the young girl by the shoulders and digging her sharp nails into the tender flesh. “ _ Keep him alive. _ ” She ordered, jade eyes glinting. “If he dies, it will be your sister that pays the price. Do I make myself understood?”

“Y-Yes, Your Grace.” She stammered, stumbling as Cersei shoved her forward and left without so much as a glance at her suffering brother, the door swinging shut behind her with a loud bang. Layana clasped her hands in front of her, breathing shallowly through her mouth as she watched a thin man in maester’s robes who could only be Qyburn move about the room.

“Well don’t just stand there, girl.” He barked in a reedy voice. “Come here.”

Layana scurried over, the stench of rot filling her nostrils as she sucked her breath in through her mouth. The maester  appeared to be bickering with his charge, offering some small shred of relief to Layanna by proving that Ser Jaime was indeed more lucid and intact than rumors would lead her to believe.

“The safest course would be to take the whole arm off.” Qyburn said tersely, staring down at the invalid man with an irritated furrow between his brows. 

Jaime glared, jade eyes like flint as he stared down the other man. “Do that and  you will die.” He promised. “And you’re no maester - where’s your chain?”

Qyburn licked his thin lips. “The Citadel stripped me of it.” He confessed, seemingly nonplussed. “They found some of my experiments too... _ bold _ .” Layana shuddered at that. Maesters had to have strayed far from convention and rationality to be stripped of their chain.  _ This was the man the Queen was trusting with her brother’s life? That Tywin Lannister was entrusting his favorite son and heir to? Does Lord Tywin even know what is going on? _ “I can leave the upper arm and make the cut at the elbow.” The not-maester continued.

“I don’t need my right hand to kill you.” The Kingslayer reminded the man, eyes glimmering with the weight of his promise.

The other man sighed heavily. “Then I can take away the rotting flesh and try to burn out the corruption with boiling wine.” He rubbed his chin. “With any luck, that will suffice.”

Layana moved closer, stomach heaving at the sight of the filthy, bloody bandage wrapped around the stump where Ser Jaime’s sword hand used to be.  _ Did Robb do this? Is this his answer to Sansa’s engagement? Surely he wouldn’t be so foolish -one of us will suffer Joffrey’s wrath. _ “He’s going to need milk of the poppy.” She mumbled demurely, an undesired pang of sympathy lancing through her chest as Ser Jaime let out a low moan of pain.

Jaime turned his head toward the new voice, tired eyes just barely managing to make out the form of Layana Stark. “No milk of the poppy.” He insisted, watching her move forward tentatively, skirts swishing against the flagstone floor.

Layana looked to Qyburn who nodded before she adjusted her skirts and sat on the edge of the bed, the heat that emanated from the injured man making her own skin prickle. “There will be pain.” She murmured, sounding almost worried. “Quite a bit I’m afraid.”

“I’ll scream loudly then.” The Kingslayer retorted, and Layana was struck by how much he sounded like Robb in that moment.  _ Headstrong and defiant to the last. _ “It’s not as though I was given milk of the poppy when Bolton’s dog took my hand.” He growled, rage flashing in his verdant eyes. She bit her lip, fear running ice cold through her veins.  _ The Boltons are Robbs men.  _ Either she or Sansa would pay the price for Jaime’s hand. Her gaze traveled to the side table where Qyburn had prepared his knives, a large decanter of boiling wine, and several rolls of bandages. 

“Sit up.” The man instructed, assisting Jaime in shifting to sit back against the sturdy headboard and placing a pillow behind his back before turning to Layana. “Straddle him.” He ordered, snapping his fingers impatiently and moving towards her when she simply stared at him. “ _ Now, girl _ .” Layana jumped, blushing furiously as she rose and hiked up her skirts before settling her legs on either side of Jaime’s lap. 

She did her best to ignore the Kingslayer’s hot breath scorching across her cheeks as Qyburn secured his legs to the footboard. “Hold him down.” She leaned over him, tucking his good arm between them so it was trapped between his chest and her stomach, grateful for the high neck of her gown, the only barrier between her breasts and Jamie’s bright eyes. 

“Don’t worry. I’m not interested.” He murmured against the  fabric and Layana rolled her eyes, bracing herself against the headboard with her left hand while grasping his shoulder with her right. Her breathing stuttered as he adjusted his good hand so that it rested on her hip, the heat of him leeching quickly through the fabric. “I need something to hold onto.” He reasoned, and Layana found herself nodding in agreement, willing to bear the bruises of a man who had shoved her baby brother out a tower window, crippled her father, and slaughtered dozens of her brother’s men.

Layana did her best to suppress a gag as Qyburn began unwrapping the soiled bandages from Jaime’s stump, the air now thick with the smell of rot. “Brace yourselves.” He muttered as he brandished a knife. Layanna averted her gaze, staring intently at the grain or the wooden headboard as Jaime’s agonized scream pierced her ears, ringing off the stone walls.

The knight trashed, threatening to buck her off and send her tumbling to the floor even as his hand dug into her hip, fingers vice-like in their grip. Her left hand soon began to ache from gripping the headboard even as the mahogany began to splinter beneath her grip, nails elongating into claws to give her better purchase and a growl slipped past her lips. 

She could hear Qyburn’s knife slicing away at the corrupted flesh, Jaime’s screams muffled as he pressed his face against her chest, sobbing openly. “It’ll be over soon.” Layana soothed, ghosting her lips across  to his filthy forehead though she knew it would do little to ease the injured man’s torment. “Please, pass out.” She murmured, wincing as his fingers clawed at her hip and a low snarl left her throat as Qyburn kept slicing, acting as though he wasn’t torturing a human being, but rather carving up some lifeless cadaver.

Jaime whimpered as the blade was set aside, stump pulsing with fresh, searing pain before screaming anew as boiling wine was poured over the open wounds. “Pass out...pass out...pass out...please!” Layana begged, squeezing her eyes shut as tears leaked out, spilling off her cheeks into Jaime’s unwashed hair even as the knight’s own soaked the shoulder of her gown. And, as if the Gods had heard her plea, the Kingslayer let out a single strangled scream as more boiling wine poured over his wound before going blessedly limp in her arms.

🐺

Icy wind threatened to cut through Robb as he strode across the main courtyard of Riverrun. His cloak brushed against the ground, the hem splattered with mud and his sword’s weight was heavy at his hip.  _ It has to be done _ , he reminded himself.  _ Justice must be served _ . 

He climbed the gallows to where the bodies of Lord Karstark’s conspirators still hung, their faces bloated and agonized, swaying slightly on their nooses. Robb forced himself to look at them a moment longer before turning to the business at hand.

Lord Karstark was shackled, standing off to the side with Brynden at his back. “The blood of the First Men flows through my veins as much as yours,  _ boy _ .” He stated, proud as ever. “I fought the Mad King for your father. I fought Joffrey for you. We are  _ kin _ \- Stark and Karstark.”

“That didn’t stop you from betraying me...from placing my sisters at greater peril.” Robb snarled, resting a hand in Grey Wing’s fur as the direwolf stood by his side, far more loyal than the man he was about to execute. “And if won’t save you now.”

“I don’t want it to  _ save  _ me.” Lord Karstark spat, chains rattling as he took a step forward. “I want it to  _ haunt _ you to the end of your days.” He swore before kneeling unprompted before the executioner’s block, snow-white hair fluttering in the chill wind.

Robb swallowed thickly and his gaze flickered across the gallows to where his mother and Talisa stood watching the exchange impassively. Their eyes met across the distance and it gave him the strength he needed to continue. Robb drew his sword, hearing the metal sing as it left its scabbard and silencing the murmurs of those gathered.  _ How many times did Father have to do this? _ He wondered before folding both hands around the hilt and lowering the point to the ground, just as Ned had done when he’d executed the deserter from the Night’s Watch. “Rickard Karstark, Lord of Karhold… Here in the sight of Gods and men, I sentence you to die for the murders of Willem and Martyn Lannister.” His voice was steady despite the pounding of his heart. “Would you speak a final word?”

  
Lord Karstark glared up at him, gray eyes holding some unspoken promise. “Kill me and be  _ cursed _ .” He spat, lowering his head once more. “You are no King of mine.” With that, Robb’s blade descended, blood spraying out and soaking the wood as Lord Karstark’s body twitched and writhed, blood dripping steadily from his blade.

* * *

Comments are love <3

 


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